Noah's POV:
I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey that I hadn't yet touched. The kids were in their rooms, quiet for the moment. I could hear faint sounds of their voices, but nothing to distract me. I was still trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong with Mirabelle.
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see my grandad, stepping into the living room.
"How are things going?" He asked, taking a seat opposite me. His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to intrude, but I knew he already knew the answer.
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. "Not great," I muttered. "Mirabelle and I... we had a fight."
His brow furrowed, and he gave me a thoughtful look. “And what was it about?”
I sighed. I wasn’t sure wher
